The Topper Affair
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Mr. Waverly has taken to talking to himself. Is it just old age catching up or could it be something else?


Alexander Waverly took a table in the farthest corner of the Canteen and watched his fellow UNCLE employees wander about the room. It was large enough that unless you were looking for him, you wouldn't necessarily see him. Well, except for the Section Two and Three agents. They rarely missed anything.

"Hello, Alexander." A slender man with close cropped hair seemly appeared from out of thin air.

"Simon, I wondered when you'd pay me a visit. How is everything at the front?"

"Quiet these days. It hasn't been the same since the Hessians retreated."

"And Lady Margaret?"

"Extraordinary. I still can't thank you enough for introducing us. Her presence makes each day a pleasure. This is good in my situation."

"I'm delighted to hear that. Now, I suspect you have business."

"Always right to the heart of the matter, that's what I like about you, Alexander. There's a young woman in Translations."

"There are many young women in Translations." Alex grinned. He was old, but not dead just quite yet.

"Her name is Sophia."

"Yes, a relative new hire. I hear she is doing very well."

"If you ask me, a bit too well. Do you know that she doesn't even need to consult the THRUSH code book when deciphering messages?"

"A quick study?"

"Or perhaps the code is a bit too familiar, if you know what I mean." Simon tapped the side of his nose and Alexander nodded.

"I see. I will make sure that she is watched."

"Oh, she's been watched. I believe your Mr. Solo has some concerns as well. Apparently, the last few missions that he's sent men out on have been botched in some way.

"That doesn't sound like Mr. Solo."

"No, it does not." Lady Margaret had arrived, fashionably late. "Mr. Solo is a dear sweet young man, but not incapable."

"Oh, and just what might he be capable of, my dear?" There was a spark of jealousy flare in her lover's eye and Lady Margaret stroked his cheek.

"Not to worry, dear sweet Simon. Why would I be interested in a boy when I have such a man as you?"

"Hmph."

"Also, Alexander, there is a situation, I believe you call it, that is brewing in the belly of your creature."

"I'm sorry?" Waverly stirred his tea and went to sip it. Lady Margaret stopped his hand.

"Don't."

"I agree the tea is awful here-"

"It isn't right."

Alexander set the cup down quickly. "Poisoned?"

"No, but not right."

A canteen worker came up at the moment. "I'm sorry, sir, but I need to take your tea."

"Is something wrong?"

"The dish machine isn't rinsing properly and we don't want to take chances." She handed him a new cup and he took it.

"Thank you." To Lady Margaret, he murmured, "Good catch."

"We couldn't have the head of UNCLE HQ new York spitting his tea all over the place now, could we? This cup is fine. Poorly brewed, but fine."

He sipped. "I can certainly agree with that."

"Now about that little minx in Translation, Alex, old man. I say a trap is in order…"

"Absolutely. What do you have in mind?"

The Canteen worker moved away from Waverly's table, smiling weakly as the man continued to mutter to himself.

"We're drawing attention, Alex." Simon stood and held his arm out to his lady love. Alexander overlooked the scarf that held her head in place, just as she ignored the gaping hole in Simon's midsection. When his best friends, both of whom had perished in World War One, came back as ghosts to advise him, he learned to overlook many things. "We will meet you back in your office. I can't wait to see young Solo's face when you tell him our scheme."

As they faded from view, Alexander finished his meal and carried his tray up to the dirty dish station.

"That was a most satisfactory meal, thank you."

The two canteen workers watched him leave.

"Does he always talk to himself like that?"

"It's the age, I suspect and the pressure of the job. After a while, they all go looney."

"He's crazy?"

They looked back as the head of UNCLE HQ- New York pause to chat casually with an agent. "Crazy like a fox."

Napoleon half-listened to the excited voice on the phone, scribbling a note hastily with his other hand. He waved it in the air until it caught the attention of his partner. Illya frowned and grabbed the paper.

"Helf?" He looked at Napoleon. "What is helf?"

Napoleon pointed to the phone and made a cutting motion across his throat.

"Oh, help. I understand." He took a step closer. "Napoleon, I need you."

"Oh, Doc, that's Illya, I have to go. Thank you and I assure you that I will look into it." He cradled the phone even as the speaker was still talking. "Thank heavens."

Illya struggled to suppress a smile as he crumbled the paper and tossed it towards the wastebasket. It hit the back edge and toppled in. "Long conversation?"

"You have no idea." Napoleon rubbed his ear. "I appreciate the concern, but he made his point five minutes ago."

"And that point was?" Illya retook his seat at his desk and reached for his favorite writing implement.

"That Mr. Waverly is losing it."

Illya's No. 2 pencil froze. "I'm sorry?"

"That was the gist of the call and it's not the first one. I've had four other reports that Mr. Waverly is actively talking to himself."

"Many people talk to themselves. It is not indicative of insanity."

"But it is a relatively new development and Mr. Waverly has been under a lot of strain as of late. For the moment, I have put them off alerting any other Section heads, but I fear my hand is going to be forced soon."

"What do you propose?"

"Observe and report back to Medical."

Lady Margaret shook her head and stomped her pretty foot. "No! I will not have it. Alexander has enough on his plate without the interference of well-meaning Section Two agents." She'd been watching Napoleon as of late. She would never admit, aloud, at being taken by his good looks and suave manners, but he was fun to watch.

Napoleon suddenly looked straight at her and she froze.

"What's wrong?" Mr. Solo's partner was looking in the same direction with a puzzled expression.

"I thought I heard something."

Just then the phone rang and Napoleon caught it before the second ring.

"Solo." He covered the receiver with his hand. "Speak of the devil," he murmured. "Yes, sir, I'm on my way up."

"Trouble?"

"He wants to talk to me about an internal matter."

"Maybe you could bring up the topic."

"Pardon me, Mr. Waverly, sir, but are you going nuts? I think I'll leave it to another day."

Lady Margaret sighed and willed herself away to Waverly's office. Simon was already there, floating just above the couch.

"Have fun?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Your cheeks are flushed, my lady, and your eyes are wide. Either you were frightening the innocent or watching Mr. Solo again."

"He really is the most frustrating of men. Do you know people think Alexander is going insane?"

"Because of us?" Simon's voice was sad.

"Yes."

Simon sat up and floated down to the couch. "As much as it grieves me to say this, but perhaps we should leave."

"I'd rather you didn't." Alexander looked up from his desk. "It's rather nice to have two people whom I don't have to be concerned as to their welfare."

"But they could try to remove you from your position."

That resulted in two puffs of scented smoke. "I'd very much like to see them try." He was interrupted by a soft chime. "Yes?"

"Mr. Solo is here, sir."

"Excellent. Send him in."

Napoleon sat politely and listened to his chief. First, it was only courteous, but it also provided him with a gauge by which to measure Mr. Waverly. No matter what people said, he seemed as sharp and focused as ever, although he did seem to have an odd habit of looking over Napoleon's shoulder to some position on the wall.

"So, we are in agreement that something needs to be down about our Miss Wilde?"

Napoleon realized he'd been asked a question. "Yes, sir. I will have a little chat with Mandy. She still owes me one."

"One what, Mr. Solo."

"Favor, sir. After that microdot affair."

"Oh, yes, nearly lost a good humidor because of your foolishness. Yes, by all means, bring her in." Mr. Waverly returned to his work and Napoleon suddenly realized he'd been dismissed.

"I'll get right on it."

He walked out of the office and then paused.

"Yes, I believe he will see it through." A pause, then Waverly resumed talking. "No, nothing of the sort. You have to remember that a leader leads, he does not follow up in case his agent botches it." Another pause, then "No, I quite agree, but we must wait."

"Can I do something for you, Napoleon?" Lisa Rogers suddenly appeared, back from her chore.

"Does he do that a lot? Talk to himself?"

"Listening at doors is a nasty habit."

"I'm a spy, sue me. Lisa, what's going on?"

She took off her glasses and sat down. "It's… a new development. We all talk to ourselves at times and he always has, but I will admit that his incidents have been on the increase as of late."

"We're looking into it."

"Thank you," she murmured and sigh. "I just worry."

"We all do, my dear."

Napoleon turned on his heels and headed for translations. Many heads turned in his direction, eyes hopeful, but he walked directly to the one person who didn't seem the least bit interested in his arrival. It was as if the room gave one collective and regretful sigh.

"Mandy, could I talk to you for a moment? I have some questions about our little **incident**."

"I have already told you everything I know, Napoleon, and I need to get these weather reports translated." Ever since she's gotten a firsthand taste of THRUSH, she had returned happily to her own Section.

"Just a couple of questions. I'll even buy you a cup of coffee." Napoleon winked and he could tell she was intrigued.

"Well, just two."

They walked from the room and Napoleon immediately ushered her into a conference room and locked the door.

"I'm going to talk fast, Mandy, but I know you can keep up. We have reason to believe that Miss Wilde is batting for the other team."

"Sophie? No, I can't… could she?"

"We don't know, but I want you to intercept all incoming messages from THRUSH and translate them for me before passing them on to her."

"All right."

"Discretion is key."

"I understand." She smiled. "Thank you for letting me do this for you."

"Thank you." She turned to leave and Napoleon caught her arm. "What's wrong?"

"We are going to be seeing a lot of each other in the next week. Let's give them something to talk about, shall we?" He mussed her hair and then pinched her cheeks.

"Ouch! What's that for?"

"You now look like a woman who's fallen under my charm. It's your new cover. You might try sighing a lot, too."

"Oh, I already do that when I think of you, but it's usually exasperation."

He grinned. "That's my girl. Go win one for the Gipper."

Alexander Waverly looked up from the circular table as his two top agents entered. He was going over duty rosters, not his favorite of tasks. "You have news, gentlemen?"

"Sadly, yes. It would seem that Miss Wilde is indeed under the influence of THRUSH. I don't know when they got to her, but they did." Napoleon dropped a file onto the desk and spun it. "On my suggestion, Mandy has been translating all incoming message that we have interceptive from THRUSH. If they are standard unimportant translations, they are translated perfectly, however if they are sensitive, certain 'adjustments' are made, a different hour for a courier drop, a few degrees difference in the transfer to a new site of operation."

"Could it be a problem on this end, sloppy work, perhaps?"

"I don't think so, sir. It's only certain communiques that are being mistranslated and only a few key words. The rest are spot on."

"Then I suspect it is time to have a heart-to-heart with our Miss Wilde."

"I'll see to it, sir. I'd like to recommend Mandy for her position. She's become quite… uh… skilled during the past week."

"As I am hearing, Mr. Solo." He nearly smiled at the look of surprise in Solo's eyes. _Why do young men always think they just invented sex?_ He wanted to ask the two figures standing nearby. Lady Margaret had her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.

"It's just a front, sir. Nothing untoward has happened."

"So I've also heard." Simon laughed at that.

His agents turned to leave and Illya paused. "Sir, how did you know it was her? We had started to suspect, but she was rather low on our list."

"Surely, Mr. Kuryakin, you should realize that being a successful agent is very much like being a magician and you never ask them how they did it."

"Yes, sir." Alexander could tell it did nothing to satisfy the young man's curiosity, but he also knew Kuryakin would never push his boundaries.

"And that's that!" Simon announced. "Take that, you dog of wars! Draw and quarter her now? That's what they used to do with traitors."

"Oh, I suspect Mr. Solo has something up his sleeve. And Mr. Kuryakin, as well. That young man has a talent for making people see things our way."

Simon looked off into the distance. "Alexander, it's time."

"Already? I'd hope for a stay, as it were." He sighed sadly as he reached for his hat. He clicked on the intercom. "Miss Rogers, please call for my car."

Napoleon glanced over at Illya as they listened at Lisa's desk. The secretary had conveniently stepped away from a moment. "Don't gloat," he said to Illya's grin.

"Never, but we do have a problem."

"I agree and it's time we take it up with a higher authority."

"Another Section One?"

"Higher."

"It's so good of you to make time for us, ma'am." Napoleon carefully balanced the teacup on his knee and smiled at Mrs. Waverly.

"Well, it's not often I have two such charming gentlemen as yourselves visit my parlor." She handed a cup to Illya. "I'm sorry the place is in a bit of a state. I was away and Alexander is not known for his housekeeping abilities, even with a maid." Her eyes twinkled at the last remark.

"Thank you." He sipped it and smiled. "Someone who can make a decent cup of tea."

"I'm so glad you like it. Have all that you want." She poured a cup for herself and set it aside. "I will just let that cool."

"Now what is this all about?"

"Well, to be honest, we are a bit worried about your husband."

"Alexander? What on earth for? Cookie?"

"No, thank you."

"Well, he's taken to talking to himself and we are a bit worried."

"Many people talk to themselves. It shouldn't cause concern." She offered the plate to Illya. He accepted it and took two, then replaced it. "I suspect even the two of you do on occasion."

"People are starting to talk. It wouldn't do to have him removed because of a misguided assumption."

"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?"

The men exchanged looks, startled by the abrupt change of topics, and both shook their heads. "Well, no, ma'am, I don't."

"You should. Just because you haven't met any, it doesn't mean they don't exist."

"Yes, of course, ma'am."

"Alexander lost two dear friends when he was fighting in World War One. Simon was his best friend from school. They enlisted and served together until Simon had the misfortune of positioning himself in front of a cannon ball. It was most unfortunate, but it did save Alexander's life. Lady Margaret, well, I'm not exactly sure what part she played in that scalawag's past, but she was killed in a freak accident, delivering a message to the underground, a message that Alexander was supposed to have delivered himself. They had booby trapped the drop off spot and she quite literally lost her head. It was very sad."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you are both wondering what this has to do with everything."

"I do confess a touch of confusion." Illya had another cookie.

"They are who Alexander is talking to. Whenever he has a problem, he talks to them. They try to help him out."

"To their memories." Napoleon nodded. "I've been known to do that."

"No, to them. They're ghosts."

Illya choked on the cookie and Napoleon pounded his back. "You okay?" Illya nodded and Napoleon handed him his cup of tea. "Drink this."

Illya drained the cup and made a face. "What did you put in this?"

"Three sugars. I like things sweet." Napoleon turned back to Mrs. Waverly. "I'm afraid I find that rather unlikely, ma'am."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so smug, Mr. Solo." She laughed merrily. "Just because…"

The door to the parlor opened and a woman came in. She looked as if she just woken up from a nap with her hair and clothes is disarray. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Oh, good, they served you refreshments."

Both men stood immediately. "Ma'am?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." She patted her hair self-consciously. "Everything has been in such a state. What with Mother and everything."

"I beg your pardon?" The men exchanged confused looks.

"Oh, I'm Meredith, the Waverlys' oldest daughter." She smiled sadly. "We just lost Mom this morning and I've been running around all day. I'm expecting Daddy any minute now."

"But…" Napoleon looked over at Mrs. Waverly.

She simply smiled as a young man, with a large hole in his midsection, and a strikingly beautiful woman appeared beside her. She nodded to both of them. "As I was saying, Mr. Solo. Just because you haven't met a ghost yet, you shouldn't be so dismissive." And she faded from view.

Meredith looked from one man to the other. "What's wrong with the pair of you? You both look like you've seen a ghost."


End file.
